An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

perhaps—her own church said it was not—but still, now that

they were here and in love like this—these others looked so

gay and happy—a pretty medley of colors moving round

and round in the green and brown frame—it did not seem

so bad to her. Why shouldn’t people dance, anyway? Girls

like herself and boys like Clyde? Her younger brother and

sister, in spite of the views of her parents, were already

declaring that when the opportunity offered, they were

going to learn.

“Oh, isn’t that too bad!” he exclaimed, thinking how

delightful it would be to hold Roberta in his arms. “We could

have such fun now if you could. I could teach you in a few

minutes if you wanted me to.”

“I don’t know about that,” she replied quizzically, her eyes

showing that his suggestion appealed to her. “I’m not so

clever that way. And you know dancing isn’t considered so

very nice in my part of the country. And my church doesn’t

approve of it, either. And I know my parents wouldn’t like

me to.”

“Oh, shucks,” replied Clyde foolishly and gayly, “what

nonsense, Roberta. Why, everybody dances these days or

nearly everybody. How can you think there’s anything

wrong with it?”

“Oh, I know,” replied Roberta oddly and quaintly, “maybe

they do in your set. I know most of those factory girls do, of

course. And I suppose where you have money and

position, everything’s right. But with a girl like me, it’s

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different. I don’t suppose your parents were as strict as

mine, either.”

“Oh, weren’t they, though?” laughed Clyde who had not

failed to catch the “your set”; also the “where you have

money and position.”

“Well, that’s all you know about it,” he went on. “They were

as strict as yours and stricter, I’ll bet. But I danced just the

same. Why, there’s no harm in it, Roberta. Come on, let me

teach you. It’s wonderful, really. Won’t you, dearest?”

He put his arm around her and looked into her eyes and

she half relented, quite weakened by her desire for him.

Just then the merry-go-round stopped and without any plan

or suggestion they seemed instinctively to drift to the side of

the pavilion where the dancers—not many but avid—were

moving briskly around. Fox-trots and one-steps were being

supplied by an orchestrelle of considerable size. At a

turnstile, all the remaining portions of the pavilion being

screened in, a pretty concessionaire was sitting and taking

tickets—ten cents per dance per couple. But the color and

the music and the motions of the dancers gliding

rhythmically here and there quite seized upon both Clyde

and Roberta.

The orchestrelle stopped and the dancers were coming out.

But no sooner were they out than five-cent admission

checks were once more sold for the new dance.

“I don’t believe I can,” pleaded Roberta, as Clyde led her to

the ticket-stile. “I’m afraid I’m too awkward, maybe. I never

danced, you know.”

“You awkward, Roberta,” he exclaimed. “Oh, how crazy.

Why, you’re as graceful and pretty as you can be. You’ll

see. You’ll be a wonderful dancer.”

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Already he had paid the coin and they were inside.

Carried away by a bravado which was three-fourths her

conception of him as a member of the Lycurgus upper crust

and possessor of means and position, he led the way into a

corner and began at once to illustrate the respective

movements. They were not difficult and for a girl of

Roberta’s natural grace and zest, easy. Once the music

started and Clyde drew her to him, she fell into the positions

and steps without effort, and they moved rhythmically and

instinctively together. It was the delightful sensation of

being held by him and guided here and there that so

appealed to her—the wonderful rhythm of his body

coinciding with hers.

“Oh, you darling,” he whispered. “Aren’t you the dandy little

dancer, though. You’ve caught on already. If you aren’t the

wonderful kid. I can hardly believe it.”

They went about the floor once more, then a third time,

before the music stopped and by the time it did, Roberta

was lost in a sense of delight such as had never come to

her before. To think she had been dancing! And it should

be so wonderful! And with Clyde! He was so slim, graceful—

quite the handsomest of any of the young men’ on the floor,

she thought. And he, in turn, was now thinking that never

had he known any one as sweet as Roberta. She was so

gay and winsome and yielding. She would not try to work

him for anything. And as for Sondra Finchley, well, she had

ignored him and he might as well dismiss her from his mind

—and yet even here, and with Roberta, he could not quite

forget her.

At five-thirty when the orchestrelle was silenced for lack of

customers and a sign reading “Next Concert 7.30” hung up,

they were still dancing. After that they went for an icecream

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soda, then for something to eat, and by then, so swiftly had

sped the time, it was necessary to take the very next car for

the depot at Fonda.

As they neared this terminal, both Clyde and Roberta were

full of schemes as to how they were to arrange for to-

morrow. For Roberta would be coming back then and if she

could arrange to leave her sister’s a little early Sunday he

could come over from Lycurgus to meet her. They could

linger around Fonda until eleven at least, when the last train

south from Homer was due. And pretending she had

arrived on that they could then, assuming there was no one

whom they knew on the Lycurgus car, journey to that city.

And as arranged so they met. And in the dark outlying

streets of that city, walked and talked and planned, and

Roberta told Clyde something—though not much—of her

home life at Biltz.

But the great thing, apart from their love for each other and

its immediate expression in kisses and embraces, was the

how and where of further contacts. They must find some

way, only, really, as Roberta saw it, she must be the one to

find the way, and that soon. For while Clyde was obviously

very impatient and eager to be with her as much as

possible, still he did not appear to be very ready with

suggestions—available ones.

But that, as she also saw, was not easy. For the possibility

of another visit to her sister in Homer or her parents in Biltz

was not even to be considered under a month. And apart

from them what other excuses were there? New friends at

the factory—the post-office—the library—the Y. W. C. A.—

all suggestions of Clyde’s at the moment. But these spelled

but an hour or two together at best, and Clyde was thinking

of other week-ends like this. And there were so few

remaining summer week-ends.

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Chapter 19

THE return of Roberta and Clyde, as well as their outing

together, was quite unobserved, as they thought. On the

car from Fonda they recognized no one. And at the

Newtons’ Grace was already in bed. She merely awakened

sufficiently to ask a few questions about the trip—and those

were casual and indifferent. How was Roberta’s sister? Had

she stayed all day in Homer or had she gone to Biltz or

Trippetts Mills? (Roberta explained that she had remained

at her sister’s.) She herself must be going up pretty soon to

see her parents at Trippetts Mills. Then she fell asleep.

But at dinner the next night the Misses Opal Feliss and

Olive Pope, who had been kept from the breakfast table by

a too late return from Fonda and the very region in which

Roberta had spent Saturday afternoon, now seated

themselves and at once, as Roberta entered, interjected a

few genial and well-meant but, in so far as Roberta was

concerned, decidedly troubling observations.

“Oh, there you are! Look who’s back from Starlight Park.

Howja like the dancing over there, Miss Alden? We saw

you, but you didn’t see us.” And before Roberta had time to

think what to reply, Miss Feliss had added: “We tried to get

your eye, but you couldn’t see any one but him, I guess. I’ll

say you dance swell.”

At once Roberta, who had never been on very intimate

terms with either of these girls and who had neither the

effrontery nor the wit to extricate herself from so swift and

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complete and so unexpected an exposure, flushed. She

was all but speechless and merely stared, bethinking her at

once that she had explained to Grace that she was at her

sister’s all day. And opposite sat Grace, looking directly at

her, her lips slightly parted as though she would exclaim:

“Well, of all things! And dancing! A man!” And at the head